Читать книгу Pagan Adversary - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 5

‘WHAT you’re saying is that there’s nothing I can do—that I can’t win.’ By a superhuman effort Harriet Masters kept her voice steady.

The man sitting opposite her at the wide, polished desk gave a slight shrug. ‘You are mistaken if you regard this as a battle, Thespinis Masters. But if you insist on doing so, then I must tell you it is one you will find impossible to win. My client is prepared to carry his claim for custody of his nephew to any court either in this country or internationally. It would be a costly process, but one that he could afford. Whereas you—–’ he glanced down at some papers in front of him—‘You, I see, are a secretary.’

‘Nothing so important,’ Harriet said defiantly. ‘I’m a typist. I earn a reasonable salary, but I can’t fight the Marcos millions—I admit that. But my claim to Nicky is on moral grounds.’ She took a deep breath. ‘My sister was my only living relative. When she and Kostas married—when they had Nicky, they let me become part of their family. I—I even had a room in their house, and I was actually looking after Nicky when—when….’ She paused, struggling for composure.

‘I am aware of that, thespinis,’ Mr Philippides looked at her with a trace of compassion. ‘It was a great tragedy, a grievous shock for you. But surely you wish for the best for the boy.’

Harriet returned his glance coolly. ‘Naturally. But I think we differ on how we would interpret what’s best for him.’

Mr Philippides pursed his lips. ‘Come, thespinis.’ There was a trace of impatience in his voice. ‘In his uncle’s care, he will have every possible advantage.’

‘I’d find that easier to believe if that same uncle had taken the slightest interest in him when he was born, and during the time before Kostas and Becca were—killed,’ Harriet retorted, and was glad to see Mr Philippides look uncomfortable. In a detached way, she could almost feel sorry for him. He had a wretched job to do, and, one that was probably little to his taste. But on the other hand, she thought cynically, Alex Marcos was undoubtedly paying him well to persuade her to hand little Nicky over without a struggle.

When she had arrived at the imposing suite of offices which housed the London branch of the Marcos corporation, she had been frankly terrified in case she had to face Alex Marcos himself. She had never met him, but Kostas naturally had spoken of him often, and although Harriet acknowledged that his view was coloured by the fact that there was little love lost between the brothers, there was no doubt that he sounded a formidable figure.

She had found Mr Philippides with his grizzled hair and rotund person a distinct relief, although she did not underestimate him. Anyone Alex Marcos employed would have high professional skills, and would be expected to win any encounters they undertook on his behalf.

But not this one, Harriet thought, her nails digging painfully into the palms of her hands. Not this one. I can’t let Nicky go. He’s all I have.

She stole a swift glance at herself in the huge mirror which dominated one wall of the office, and was glad to see that apart from a telltale spot of colour in each cheek, she looked relatively calm. She was thankful that Mr Philippides could not know how near collapse she had been through sheer tension as the lift had borne her swiftly upwards to the penthouse.

Alex Marcos’ arrogant claim to Nicky had come as a complete shock to her. He and Kostas had been on cool terms for several years, and relations between them had been totally severed when Kostas married Becca against his family’s wishes. From that moment on there had been no contact, either by letter or telephone, and Kostas had declared savagely that he would never go back to Greece again. Harriet could only be glad he had never known how tragically his prophecy would be fulfilled. He and Becca had been killed instantly on their way home from a friend’s house when a car driven by a drunk had careered into their own vehicle at some crossroads.

From that moment, life had become a nightmare for Harriet, but she had coped with the inquest and the funeral because there was no one else to do it. And no one else to look after Nicky. The firm she worked for had allowed her several weeks leave with pay while she made what arrangements she could. The house had to be sold. It was on a mortgage, and she could not afford the payments. It was as much as she could do to pay the rent on the large bedsitter she had found. It was an airy room, but she had to share the kitchen and bathroom, and when Nicky grew older she would have to find something larger.

But she had been prepared for that. Prepared for all the eventualities and sacrifices that would be necessary, because she loved Nicky.

She had got him a place with a registered childminder, a girl only a few years older than herself with twins of Nicky’s age, and a pleasantly untidy house and garden. Manda Lane was a serene, unruffled personality and Harriet had taken to her immediately, and, what was more important, so had Nicky, who although too young to fully comprehend the rapid change in his circumstances, was nevertheless disturbed by it, and inclined to cling.

Life wasn’t easy, and money was tight, but she was coping.

And then had come the letter from Alex Marcos’ solicitors, informing her that he was claiming custody of his brother’s child, and offering her payment in compensation.

She had been stunned by the letter’s cruelty and insensitivity, and had dashed off an impetuous refusal of his terms by return of post.

The next communication had been couched in slightly more conciliatory terms, but with no alteration in the basic demand. Nicky was to leave England and take up residence in Greece in his uncle’s charge, and she, Harriet, was to relinquish all claims to him. Her reply to this showed no lessening of her own determination. There had been a lengthy pause, and she had begun to hope, idiotically, that Alex Marcos had thought better of engaging in what the media called a ‘tug of love’ over a child who was a total stranger to him.

He didn’t need Nicky, she had persuaded herself. He had so much else—wealth, property, business interests which took him all over the world, and if the gossip columns were to be believed, more female company than was decent.

‘We were born the wrong way round,’ Kostas had said once ruefully. ‘Alex is a wild man, a rover, a true pagan. That is the role of the young brother, ne? Whereas I—I am the tame, domesticated man. Very dull.’

He had laughed and looked at Becca, and something in their eyes and intimate smiles had brought a lump to Harriet’s throat. There was nothing dull about their lives together, she’d thought.

Led by her thoughts, aloud she said, ‘Judging by what one reads in the papers, I’d have said Alex Marcos is the last man in the world to want to saddle himself with a small child. Won’t it cramp his usual style?’

Mr Philippides almost gaped at her, and she saw with satisfaction that a faint film of perspiration had broken out on his swarthy forehead.

He said repressively, ‘That is hardly a subject for discussion. You forget, thespinis, that the child Nicos is his heir.’

Harriet smiled. ‘And he forgets that Nicky is my heir too.’

‘Po, po, po,’ Mr Philippides gestured impatiently. ‘Let us speak seriously, Thespinis Masters, and practically too. What can you possibly hope to give the child in comparison to the Marcos family?’

‘I can give him love,’ Harriet said bravely. ‘Nicky isn’t a commodity, as Mr Marcos seems to think, judging by the insulting offer he made to me.’

Mr Philippides avoided her gaze ‘That was perhaps—unfortunate.’

‘That is putting it extremely mildly,’ said Harriet.

Mr Philippides leaned forward. ‘You must not mistake yourself, my dear young lady, that the child will not be cared for. As well as his uncle, his grandmother is also anxious to receive him.’

‘What a pity they weren’t equally anxious to receive my sister.’ Harriet’s tone held a note of steel.

She could remember Kostas’ distress at the implacable silence which greeted his marriage. ‘Mama and Alex!’ he had raged. ‘All my life I have taken their orders—obeyed them dutifully. But all that is forgotten now. In their eyes I have transgressed—and neither of them will forgive or forget.’

Harriet’s heart muscles contracted at the thought of little Nicky growing up in such an atmosphere.

Mr Philippides sighed. ‘It could hardly be expected they would welcome such a match,’ he said, clearly making an effort to be placatory. ‘You do not fully understand, dear young lady, that in our country such matters are often still arranged. A bride had already been chosen for the late Mr Marcos. His marriage to your sister caused great offence—deep embarrassment.’

‘Then why didn’t Alex marry her himself, if it was so important?’ Harriet snapped. ‘As for Nicky being his heir, that’s a ridiculous argument. He’s bound to marry and have children himself one day—if he can find any woman fool enough to tie herself up to him—and where will Nicky be then?’ She thumped the desk with her clenched fist. ‘He has—everything, Mr Philippides— and I only have Nicky. I won’t give him up. If Mr Marcos wants him, he’ll have to fight for him!’

‘I hope that is not your final word, Thespinis Masters.’ As Harriet rose to her feet, Mr Philippides stood up too.

‘No,’ said Harriet. ‘My final word is—tyrant. A Greek word, I think. In England, we don’t believe in them.’

She marched to the door without a backward glance.

Her bravado had faded slightly when she reached the street. In fact she was shaking so much, she had to pause for a few moments in the doorway until she had regained her self-control

The interview had not in fact taken as long as she had anticipated, and there was still nearly three-quarters of an hour left of her lunch break, although she had little appetite.

It was a fine sunny day, and several of the pubs she passed on her way back to her own office had awnings out, and tables on the pavement. Reasoning that she couldn’t do a full afternoon’s work on an empty stomach, no matter how churned-up that stomach might be, Harriet sat down at one of the outside tables, ordering a tomato juice and a cheese sandwich.

She might have promised Alex Marcos a fight, she thought sombrely, but Mr Philippides had been right when he said she could not win. He had everything going for him—money, power, resources. How could she hope to convince anyone, let alone a court of law, that she would be a more suitable guardian for a small child?

She sighed, and tossed the remains of a crust to a hopefully strutting pigeon.

Besides, couldn’t it be argued that by attempting to keep Nicky, she was actually being selfish? She did want Nicky to have all the advantages that the Marcos family could provide, but she could not. Had she any real justification for depriving him of them?

She thought wistfully how lonely life would be without Nicky. At just over two and a half, he was beginning to talk quite fluently, and enjoy the nursery rhymes and stories she read to him. The thought of losing that close and loving relationship for ever—of abandoning him to people who were strangers, who even spoke an alien language—chilled her to the bone.

If the relationship between Kostas and his brother had been a normal one, the situation could have been so different, she thought sadly. But the Marcos family had never even acknowledged Becca, and the feelings of her younger sister would have no significance at all in their reckonings. The fact that they had cynically offered her a sum of money to induce her to part with Nicky without a fuss proved how little they estimated her.

Poor Kostas, she thought. He had always been reticent on the exact nature of the quarrel which had driven him to England, away from his family, but if it was to escape an unwanted marriage with a comparative stranger, then it was quite understandable.

When he and Becca had met, it had been several months before he had even told her that he was related to the Marcos family. In fact their romance had nearly ended when Becca discovered the truth, because she felt almost overwhelmed by it. She was a gentle girl, and the jet-setting lifestyle of the man who was to be her brother-in-law repelled and frightened her. It took all the persuasion and all the assurances that Kostas was capable of to convince her that his was a very different personality.

Harriet suspected that the unconcealed hostility of the Marcos family to the marriage had almost come as a relief to Becca. Kostas was working as an accountant and earning sufficient to provide for their needs, and that was all she wanted.

Harriet sighed. If only Alex Marcos or his mother had seen them together, she thought passionately, had seen how much they loved each other, then they must have relented. But at the same time, a small cold voice deep inside her told her that she was being sentimental. A man as ruthlessly successful as Alex Marcos would regard any such change of heart as a sign of weakness.

She got up, brushing a few stray crumbs from her navy pleated skirt, and began to walk along the street, not hurrying, looking into the windows of shops she passed with unseeing eyes.

There was a danger, and she could see it, of making Nicky the centre of her world. She rarely went out now in the evenings. For one thing, baby-sitters cost money, but more importantly it seemed wrong not to spend as much time as possible with Nicky at the only time it was possible—after work. She had never grudged him one minute of her time, or felt deprived, but sometimes when she heard the other girls she worked with chatting animatedly about boy-friends and outings, she felt as if she occupied another world.

At twenty-one, she was hardly likely to be written off as a spinster, the archetypal maiden aunt, she knew. She wasn’t conceited, but she was aware that her pale fair hair and wide grey eyes had an attraction all their own. But she also knew that Nicky’s existence in her life was a drawback as far as men were concerned. Roy, for instance.

She flushed slightly as she remembered that she had actually been considering becoming engaged to Roy. Then the accident had happened, and her life had changed overnight, and somehow Roy wasn’t there any more. She’d been bewildered, and more than a little hurt, because she had counted on his support. But he had been almost brutally frank.

‘I’m sorry, love,’ he’d said, ‘but I didn’t bargain for a ready-made family. I don’t want to have to share your attention with a kid who isn’t even my own.’

Harriet had told herself she was well rid of him, and knew that it was true, but the hurt still lingered, and made her chary of accepting such invitations that did come her way.

Claudia who occupied the adjoining desk at the office pool was always trying to make dates for her, and urging her to go out more, insisting that she owed it to herself. But Harriet felt that it was Nicky who was owed—owed as settled and secure an environment as she could create for him, at least for the time being.

Claudia was waiting agog for her return. ‘What happened?’ she hissed.

Harriet shrugged. ‘We talked. I lost my temper.’

Claudia grinned. ‘It’s amazing,’ she said. ‘You are the image of a cool blonde, and yet it’s like an ice-cap over a volcano. Was it the great man himself?’

Harriet shook her head, and Claudia made a frustrated noise.

‘Damn, there goes my last chance of finding out what a really sexy man is like! I expected you to come reeling back here with stars in your eyes and no buttons left on your blouse.’

‘You’re joking, of course.’ Harriet was acid.

‘Not really,’ Claudia grinned. ‘After all, he must have something. Look at the birds he pulls!’

Harriet smiled cynically as she wound papers and carbons into her typewriter. ‘Oh, he’s got something all right,’ she agreed. ‘Money.’

Claudia snorted. ‘Bet it’s more than that. Haven’t you ever seen a photograph of him?’

Harriet shrugged. ‘The odd newspaper one. But they don’t tell you much except he hasn’t got two heads. It’s a pity he hasn’t, really,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘then everyone would know what a monster he is.’

‘Miss Masters!’ The typing pool supervisor materialised beside Harriet’s desk, looking severe. ‘Miss Greystoke has buzzed. You’re wanted in the chairman’s suite.’

Harriet’s fingers stilled on the keys of her machine. She was a good efficient worker, and she had sometimes taken dictation for the managing director and the company secretary when their own girls were away, but the chairman was another kettle of fish altogether. None of the typing pool ever filled in for the remote and efficient Miss Greystoke. And anyway, if Miss Greystoke had buzzed, it was reasonable to suppose that she was there, and not requiring a substitute.

‘When you’re quite ready, Miss Masters,’ the supervisor reminded her sarcastically.

The chairman’s suite and the other executive offices were one floor up, and Harriet walked up the stairs, trying to tuck errant strands of hair back into the smooth coil she wore on top of her head. What on earth could Sir Michael want her for? she wondered in alarm. In the two years she had been with the company, she had never even spoken to him. When Kostas and Becca had been killed, it had been the company secretary Mr Crane who had dealt with her, and he had been kindness himself. But perhaps Sir Michael didn’t think she was worth the time and the money she had been allowed. But if so, was it likely he would summon her to tell her so himself?

She was totally mystified by the time she reached Miss Greystoke’s office. Miss Greystoke was looking at her watch ostentatiously when she knocked politely and went in.

‘At last,’ she said coolly. ‘You’re to go straight in.’

‘Yes.’ Harriet hesitated. ‘Do—do you know by any chance what it’s about?’

Miss Greystoke looked as if she was about to be withering, then suddenly relented, perhaps noticing for the first time Harriet’s pallor.

‘I haven’t the slightest idea. There was a message waiting when I got back from lunch.’ She smiled. ‘But don’t look so worried. He’s not a bad old stick, you know,’ she added, lowering her voice.

Harriet returned the smile nervously. She walked over to the door of the inner office, squared her shoulders resolutely, pressed the handle down and went in.

Unlike Miss Greystoke’s office, which was artificially lit, the chairman’s room had windows the length of one wall, and the sudden glare of sunlight almost dazzled Harriet as she stood hesitating, just inside the door.

For a moment, all she was aware of was a man’s figure standing at one of the windows, and then as he turned and came towards her, she realised in an odd panic that whoever this was, it wasn’t Sir Michael.

For one thing, this man was at least twenty years his junior, black-haired with a dark, harshly attractive face. He was tall too, and expensive tailoring did full justice to the breadth of his shoulders and his lean hips and long legs.

Harriet took a breath. ‘I’m sorry—there’s been some mistake,’ she began, backing towards the door.

He held up a swift authoritative hand, halting her.

‘Oh, don’t run away, Miss Masters.’ His voice was as harsh as his face, with a faint foreign intonation. ‘You were brave enough to my lawyer not so long ago. What do you dare say to my face, I wonder?’

Oh God, Harriet thought in anguish. It can’t be true! It can’t be him.

Trying to sound cool, she said, ‘Am I supposed to know who you are?’

‘We’ll dispense with the games, if you please,’ he said. ‘We’re both well aware of each other’s identity.’

Harriet swallowed. ‘How—how did you know where I work?’

‘I know everything I need to know about you,’ he said cuttingly. ‘Including the fact that you are not a fit person to be in charge of my brother’s child.’

Harriet gasped. ‘You have no right to say that!’

‘I have every right,’ he said. ‘Every word you said to Philippides revealed your immaturity, your headstrong foolishness. You destroyed any case you might have had for retaining Nicos in your care with your own silly tongue.’

‘Mr Philippides didn’t waste any time in making a full report,’ she said furiously. ‘Did he use a tape recorder?’

‘No, Miss Masters. I saw and heard you myself.’ He paused. ‘The mirror in that room has another function apart from allowing young girls to preen themselves in it.’

A two-way mirror. Harriet had only heard of such things.

She said, ‘That’s the most despicable thing I’ve ever heard!’

‘But then your experience had been so limited.’

‘No wonder your brother was glad to get away from you,’ she said recklessly, and halted, appalled at the expression of molten rage on his face.

She said in a voice that didn’t sound like her own. ‘I—I didn’t mean that.’

‘I should hope not.’ His face was grim.

Harriet made a little helpless movement with her hands. ‘I don’t think you understand how upset I’ve been—about Nicky. He’s all I have in the world.’

‘At present, perhaps,’ he agreed. ‘Apart from the fact that you have a tongue like a shrew, you shouldn’t find it hard to attract a husband, particularly with the money I have offered you as a dowry.’

Harriet’s newly acquired cool went up in smoke. ‘I wouldn’t touch a penny of your bloody money!’

‘Your language is unbecoming,’ he said icily. ‘If you think to force me into making a higher offer by your intransigence, then forget it. You’re not worth what I have already suggested, but I wish to have the matter settled quickly. The child’s grandmother wishes to see him.’

‘The child’s grandmother could have had every opportunity of seeing him over the past two years.’ Harriet’s voice shook.

‘Was that what your sister counted on?’ he asked. ‘That the birth of her child would give her the entrée into our family? How mistaken she was! Let me advise you not to fall into the same error, Miss Masters, of playing for stakes that are beyond you. You will only lose.’

She took two hasty steps forward, her hand swung up, and she slapped him hard across his face.

The sound was like a shot going off in the quiet room, and it was followed by a terrifying silence. Harriet stood in horror, watching the marks of her fingers appear across his swarthy cheek. She saw an almost murderous flare in his eyes and braced herself for some kind of retaliation, to be shaken perhaps, or slapped in her turn, but none came.

At last he said, ‘Violent as well as insolent. What have you to say now?’

She said, ‘If you’re waiting for me to apologise, then—you’ll wait for ever! You can report me to Sir Michael if you want—I don’t care. I suppose you must be a friend of his or he wouldn’t have let you use this room. But whatever you do, I’m not prepared to hear you say things like that about Becca. You—you didn’t know her, and that was your loss, but she wasn’t interested in your family for the sort of mercenary motives that you think. There was nothing about the way you lived your lives that attracted her. She wanted Kostas and Nicky and they were enough. But she saw that the—estrangement between you hurt Kostas, so she was hurt too. That’s all.’

‘A very moving story,’ he said cynically. ‘Kostas would seem to have chosen a rare gem for his wife. Unfortunately my knowledge of him and his judgment makes that doubtful. However, I give you credit for believing what you say, and for having affection for your sister. But let us not forget that the real issue is Nicos.’

‘Nicky isn’t an—issue! He’s a child, a little human being. He’s my nephew as much as yours, and whatever you may think I’m quite capable of bringing him up. And that’s what I intend to do,’ she added in a little rush.

As she fumbled with the door handle she was afraid that he might come after her and stop her leaving, but he didn’t move, and at last she got the door open and shot through it into the outer room under Miss Greystoke’s startled gaze.

As she reached the corridor she was crying, and she made straight for the staff cloakroom on the ground floor. Fortunately it was unoccupied, and she sank down on the bench against the wall and let her emotions have their way with her. She was sick and trembling when the tears finally stopped, and the face which stared back at her from the mirror looked pale and ravaged. She bathed her eyes with cool water, and let the tap run over her wrists in an attempt to steady her racing pulses. Then she snatched her blazer from its peg and slung it round her shoulders.

Her thoughts weren’t particularly coherent, but the necessity to get Nicky out of London predominated. She had no idea where to go, or how to find a hiding place which Alex Marcos’ money would not disclose, but speed was of the essence.

She had a little money in her bag, and more at the flat, and some savings in a building society. If she went to one of the big stations in the rush hour, she thought feverishly, it was unlikely anyone would remember a girl with a young child. She would travel as far as she could afford, and pretend Nicky was hers—that she was an unmarried mother. She could disguise herself, she thought wildly, dye her hair, or buy a wig. If she could lie low for long enough, surely Alex Marcos would get tired of looking for them and return to Greece.

She bit her lip. There was no way she could make that sound convincing to herself. I said I’d fight him, so I’m damned if I’ll just give in without a struggle, she thought.

She felt guilty about leaving the company without a word of explanation, or handing in her notice but she had no alternative. She didn’t think anyone had seen her leaving the building, but she kept glancing behind her as she anxiously waited for a bus.

Manda looked surprised as she opened the door. ‘You’re early,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve just put him down for a nap.’

‘Yes,’ Harriet forced a smile. ‘I’m sorry, Manda, but I must take him with me. And he won’t be coming tomorrow—or until further notice. In fact I don’t know if—or when….’

Manda gave her a searching look. ‘The kettle’s just boiled,’ she said. ‘Go and make yourself a cup of something while I get Nicky up and put his coat on. On your own head be it too,’ she added as Harriet moved obediently towards the kitchen. ‘He’s hell if he’s woken before he’s ready.’

Nicky was plainly disgruntled when he appeared in Manda’s arms, but still too sleepy to be real hell. He held his arms out imperatively to Harriet, who took him, her welcoming smile wavering as she felt his warm little body curling trustingly into her lap.

‘Don’t squeeze him to death,’ advised Manda, refilling her own cup. ‘What’s the matter? Has the Wicked Uncle appeared and started putting pressure on?’

Harriet nodded, and Manda sighed. ‘Well, I suppose it was inevitable.’ She put out a hand and affectionately ruffled Nicky’s thick dark hair. ‘Goodbye, love. Our yard today—a millionaires’ playground tomorrow. Can’t be bad.’

‘He’s not having him!’ Harriet’s voice was fierce.

‘I admire your spirit, but I don’t think you’re being very realistic.’ Manda sounded almost matter-of-fact. ‘Greeks are very patriarchal, you know, and Nicky has Marcos blood in his veins. And just suppose you did persuade his uncle to let you keep him—do you think Nicky would always be grateful? Unless he was superhuman, he might start reckoning up on some of the things he’d missed out on.’

‘That’s—horrible,’ Harriet said slowly.

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Manda agreed. ‘But being an orphan doesn’t automatically confer sanctity as well, you know.’

‘So you think I should just—give him up?’ Harriet was astounded.

‘No.’ Manda frowned. ‘Of course not. But surely you should be able to do some kind of deal with the Marcos man—agree that Nicky should spend a certain amount of time with you each year.’

Harriet groaned. ‘After what’s happened today, I don’t think he’d agree to Nicky even sending me a Christmas card!’ She gave Manda a succinct account of the day’s events, and her intentions, and Manda looked startled.

‘For God’s sake, Harriet, don’t do anything hasty. If you grab Nicky and start dashing all over the country with him, you’ll be giving Alex Marcos the gun to shoot you down with. He may be an arrogant swine, but you won’t beat him by acting like a madwoman. You run away and you’ll just be playing into his hands.’

‘Whose side are you on?’ Harriet joked weakly.

‘Nicky’s.’ Manda gave her a gentle smile. ‘Take him home if you want, but do some good, hard thinking once you get there. If you don’t you could end by losing out completely, and that would be a bad thing for you both.’

Harriet’s thoughts were sober as she walked along, pushing the baby buggy. Nicky was fast asleep, his dark lashes making half-moons on his pink cheeks. She looked down at him with tenderness. The thought of losing him was frankly intolerable, but Manda’s words had hit home.

At first, as she turned into her road, she was barely aware of the car, and when she did notice it, it was with a kind of detached curiosity. There were plenty of cars in the road, especially at weekends, all the popular models and mostly with elderly registrations, but this was very different.

A Rolls-Royce, she thought incredulously, and her steps began to slow instinctively, her white-knuckled hands gripping the handle of the buggy.

There was a uniformed driver in the front seat, and his passenger was already getting out, tossing his half-smoked cigar into the gutter as he waited for her.

Alex Marcos said with a glittering smile, ‘Welcome home, Miss Masters. So this is Nicos. Thank you for bringing him to me.’